Turtle Soup
by AlexHamato
Summary: A series of works that revolve around the Hamato Clan. - Discovering the burden of losing somebody important, knowing that the promise to protect that was given had failed, and understanding the heavy weight of responsibility is new to Michelangelo. The struggle, for him, is much more bearable with a brother who knows very well the weight or responsibility and hopeless promises.
1. Simply Complicated

_I'm changing this to the first chapter because it seems more interesting than a blue, bouncing ball. I forgot how much I love Leo and Mike interactions and figured I'd put something more serious down for once. _

_I do not own Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Nickelodeon does._

* * *

Simply Complicated

If eye boogers could talk, they would throw a riot over the maltreatment of letting them dangle at the corner of his eyes so long. Michelangelo dare not wipe them away or even scratch that unpleasant spot just behind his left knee. It was already hard enough to track the sharp Ninja while he was wake, let alone watch him sleep.

The tired turtle thought that normal people would be easier to sneak up on if they were asleep. Oh no, but not on Leonardo. The dude was a monster. At least during the day, Mikey could act like he was preoccupied with something other than stalking his brother like some deranged Edward Cullen. But at night, his recently returned brother knew all. It was like he had some Ninja Sense for sneaking that was amplified while he slept. Maybe Don could back up his theory with some hard evidence.

All Michelangelo could remember at that moment was the last time he saw his brother, before the year long absence, was when his brother asked him to turn down his psychedelic music and go to bed. At the time, Mikey figured that Leo just couldn't hear his Chia Pet breathe with the universe over the sound of System of a Down's awesomeness. He didn't realize that the next morning he wouldn't see his brother again for many, many months.

No goodbyes. He just left.

"Don didn't put you up to this, did he? I told him to stop trying to spike my drinks. It's gotten to the point where I won't even drink out of sealed bottles."

Mike squeaked and flinched like a chew toy being electrocuted. "How? Dude, _how_?"

Before him, as it always appeared to be, the bed still had the lumpy form of his brother laying under his folds. Or at least that was what Mikey assumed to be his brother. It was too dark to be completely sure, but he had been watched the bedroom long enough to know if his brother pulled one over him. So he thought.

"I'll share my secrets of invisibility if you tell me how Don managed to slip laxatives into a bottle with an air tight seal. I even got the thick steel casing and cap to keep him out of it."

"Well," Mike stood and played it cool by leaning against the door frame, "How does one do anything?"

Leo waited. Mikey blinked. One too many seconds ticked by and he asked, "One does what? Are you going to answer, or not?"

"Honestly? I'm surprised I got that far." A nervous chuckle from Mikey. "Okay, okay. But you didn't hear this from me, alright? He's trying to get at the tapeworms that you got from Central America. I guess he figured that if he uses laxatives, he'll get the whole worm and not just pieces of it."

"I do not - "

"No point in denying it, Leo. We all know," Mikey shrugged, "Unless you now have IBS or something. I don't know. I think I'm just going to keep on my way and go to bed."

With a quick turn and step out of his brother's room, he thought he was in the clear until there was a loud, don't-think-that-you-were-going-to-get-away-with-t hat throat clearing from his brother. Of course. His brother never missed anything. Ever.

"You didn't honestly believe that I wouldn't question why you were watching me sleep every night since I got back?"

"Not every - "

"Now who's in denial?" Leo crossed his arms with a look that told him that if he didn't come up with a very legitimate excuse, that he would probably be instituted.

Mikey tried not to groan, but with his eyeballs feeling like day-old-jam and his brain working as well as diet ice cream. But he was always creative and was well trained in the art of deceit, so he may be able to pull off a decent alibi.

"Bird watching."

"Bird watching?"

No, that's right. Bird watching was his alibi for why he was found drunk and passed out on a statue of Marilyn Monroe in Central Park. He was too tired for this, but since he started, Mikey couldn't see any way but trying to continue through it. This was like a really, really sticky band-aid that he had to rip off.

"Literally, no. Theoretically..." Think of something. Think of something. Think of _anything_. "I could be doing anything."

"And that is?" Leo didn't look very happy or amused. Just tired and a bit annoyed. Not good signs.

Back to square one. He didn't really know why he was here. If he told Leo that he was still thinking that if he turns his back, he's going to up and leave for another year, then that would be lame. Not only would he look too clingy and deprived of attention, he might send his brother off on a guilt trip of shame. Leonardo would blow the whole issue out of proportion if he thought that any of his brothers were being neglected. Especially if he was gone for an entire year and just got back.

"I had to use the bathroom. You didn't really think it was Klunk leaving all that kitty litter in your bed, did you? I get confused easily at night and have a weak bladder. Blame my genetics!"

"Mikey." Oh, no. He used _that_ tone. "Not only does that – No, I am not even going to get started on how little to no sense that made. Just no." Leo sighed and pinched the corners of his eyes. Maybe he had eye boogers too. "I am going to ignore this for now because it is too early, even for me. Get back in your own bed, get some sleep, and talk to me when you have your brain back up and running. Got it?"

"Totally. El Comprenda or comprendo or whatever. I got it."

"I was in Central America for a year and I have no idea what you're trying to say, Mikey."

"Yeah, right. Sorry." Shuffled eyes down and stepping around his brother, he made his escape quick. Mikey didn't realize that he was in the tool closet until he closed the door and a broom thistles threatened to go through his nose and up into his brain. Maybe he could use for a little eye nap. It would at least help ease his build up of eye boogers.

* * *

" - in the damn closet. I reach in for some fabric sheets and get crusty snot all over my hand instead. Something is wrong with him and I'm not playing family shrink. You deal with it."

"He's probably feeling neglected because of the absence of a nurturing role model in his life."

"Isn't that what he got the cat for? You don't see me going off and doing weird stuff because Leo up and left for a year."

"Do you want me to bring up the tabloids again? Night Watcher strikes again! Who is the new, spangly vigilante that goes by the name of Night Wat - "

"Shut up, Don. They didn't even say spangly, it was menacing. Like a tiger, got it? Tiger!"

"Sure, sure. I've read that if there is a serious lack of nurturing in an adolescent male then they can become emotionally dependent, develop debilitating self-esteem, or even lash out violently in their desperate cries for help. Oh, that reminds me. Do you believe that you weren't loved as a child?"

"Who, me?" A melting chocolate bar stuck out the corner of his mouth as Michelangelo lapped and slurped up any dribbling mess down his chin. "Have you guys seen Leo?"

After waking up with Raph trying to use his face for a scrubbing pad, he figured that he might as well see if Leo was already up and training. But he wasn't in the Dojo. Or Splinter's room. Or the bathroom. Or the kitchen. Mikey even contemplating braving Don's volatile lab in search for his brother, but figured that his life wasn't quite worth it.

Now he stood around the couch, eating his candy bar, and wondering what his brothers were talking about. Mikey thought his name was mentioned, but was too distracted by the gooey sweetness of his treat. His sharper eyed brother turned to him from the couch and said, "Leo isn't going to drop off this planet when you take your eyes off him. I doubt he's going to go on another extended vacation either."

"But - "

"But nothing. There is no excuse for walking around like a mutated moss patch after a nuclear blow out."

Dropping to his knees and resting the bottom of his chin against the back of the sofa, Mikey whined lamely and dribbled liquid chocolate out the corner of his mouth. "But Don, what if what happened to make him leave before happens again and we never ever see him again? He might think I'm being too needy and he'll get tired of being around me and leave. Or he'll think that I don't need him because I'm not there enough. Or he'll think that - "

"How about you stop guessing what he's thinking and just ask him? It's not that complicated. Keep it simple and don't be stupid," Raph made a look of disgust at the brown stream that was crawling down his shoulder, "And stop with all the damn drooling! What are you, part bulldog? This is fucking disgusting. It looks like diarrhea out of your mouth!"

"But it tastes like chocolate!"

Two throw pillows were simultaneously pressed into his face, pushing Mikey back onto his shell so that he stared blankly at the ceiling. It shouldn't be that hard to ask Leo a question. And it would definitely be a good change to start sleeping in his own bed again. It's not like he would ask him twenty questions. Just a single question would be good. But what question would he ask? He can't be too obvious, or Leo might think he doesn't trust him. If he's not clear enough, Leo might assume the wrong thing and get mad at him or leave. If he hesitates or beats around the bush too much, he might thing that he's lying or just making a fuss. If he -

"Please tell me that's chocolate and not what it looks like."

Mikey blinked. The ceiling was no replaced with Leo's face, and it didn't look very happy. At least he didn't look mad, just a bit greener than usual. Sitting up, Mikey licked up what chocolate he could and noticed the lack of company on the couch. Where did the others go? He must have been on the floor a lot longer than he imagined.

"Silence isn't golden in this situation, Mikey. It's disturbing. If I have to take you to get blood work done to see if you just got poisoned by eating shi - "

"No, it was chocolate! See? You can even try it, dude." On his feet, he wiped what he could from his face, onto his finger, and attempted to bring it close to Leo's face.

"I'm good, okay? I don't have to know."

Question. He was going to ask a question. Or was thinking of asking a question. He wasn't sure anymore.

"Hey, Mike – Mikey, I mean. I thought I'd ask you a question. That is, if you don't mind, of course."

That was unexpected. Michelangelo balked and laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with a new-found nervousness. Maybe he should have pretended that there was shit on his face and took that as his cue to leave. Mikey doubted that Leo would have stopped him.

"Could you come with me? I need to pick up another Chia Pet since my last one died while I was gone."

That's right. The same one that Mikey thought he could take care of while his brother was gone. He ended up drowning it with too much water and leaving the cat to use it as a kneading post. The furry version of Gandhi never survived to full bloom.

"Yeah, sorry about that, dude. I thought I could take care of it while you were, you know, gone and all." Eyes back on the floor as he watched his toe draw mindless figures in the dust. "But sure, I'd like to go. You sure you want me to come with?"

A warm hand on his shoulder with an equally warm set of eyes on him, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Only Leonardo could answer his question without even being asked. That's just how cool he was.

"Let's get one of Mr. T this time!"

"Who? He's not one of those new-age rap artists, is he? I was thinking more along the lines of a little sheep. The docile nature of that animal symbolizes the white of serenity that is needed to achieve the perfect state of mind which is key to unlock the truth to Nirvana and - "

Or not so cool. Michelangelo figured that he'll take his brother as he is regardless. It's not like he has the choice to pick and choose when it came to family.

* * *

**A/N- I was actually inspired by something another author wrote to spur up the drive to write this. I can't remember the pen name for Fanfiction, but I know that she goes by the name Bossa Nova on Stealthy Stories. She had a good one-shot with Mike involving his dilemma with Leo leaving and all that, so I figured that I'd give it a shot. I know mine didn't turn out as awesome as hers, but I try. Heh heh heh. Who knows? Maybe this'll inspire another person to try their hand at how they interpret Mikey's character development in that situation.**


	2. Paper Cut

_This took me all of today to write. Obviously not in a row, but I had to leave and come back to it a lot. Because this is part of an challenge issued by Simone Robinson, I felt inclined that I HAD to finish, so here it is! My forced and totally construed idea of what a subtle sadness is like. At least, I'm going to try to combine the online Writing Course with this one, and was able too. The online course told me to write something with, "And then there was sadness." So this is my attempt at sadness, you could say. Hopefully ya'll enjoy!_

* * *

Paper Cut

The day began like any other. Donatello peeled himself off of his keyboard, stumbled around in his hoarding state of a lab, escaped through the rusted-over door to the rest of the lair, and breathed the first lung-fuls of fresher air for the past forty-eight hours. Like clockwork. Frosted Flakes, holding a conversation with Tony the Tiger, and dumping the half-empty bowl in the sink for the flies to feast on.

"Aren't you going to finish that? You know how stupid wasting food is," Tony said from his little prison in the cupboards, "Especially when you barely eat anything. I know, the coffee grounds are gossips."

The mouth didn't move. That would be stupid, Tony was made of cardboard. "It doesn't matter. Whatever I do own is mine to waste. Don't make me throw you out, Tony."

"For what? I'm only trying to keep you sane. Even if I have my work cut out for me, I still try." Don closed the door and he could still hear Tony say, "Don't shut me out, Don. I'm just here to help. You never did want help when you believed you were right. But you're wrong now, Donatello."

"Probably, but I don't care anymore. There's no reason to care about being right or wrong if there's nobody around to argue with." Don turned away from the cupboards and the haunting voice that resonated inside them. Then he was out of the kitchen and wandering around the lair, looking for anything to occupy his mind. His feet moved like they were wading through a thick sludge, mind just as muddled. Don't think. Don't remember. Don't think. Don't remember.

Donatello didn't want to remember.

If he remembered, then he would feel alone. But he wasn't alone. The lair was still full, it wasn't empty like he thought it would be as they left him. There was still the clutter of magazines, comic books, and crosswords from old newspapers. What always drew his eyes were the notebooks. Leonardo always kept notes stored inside the thin pages, writing down every mistake or success he, or any of them, ever managed. This was the reading material that Don would read most, sitting down on the dusty and aged couch as he flipped through the pages.

There was still the racks of weapons in the Dojo, the tatami mats either sprawled out on the floor or rolled up and leaning against the walls. Pictures and possessions scattered across the lair. There were still objects that belonged to them, still belong to them, even if they're gone. They're still there.

Then he would be reminded that there was no one to tell him Hello in the morning. Nobody to say Good Night to when he finally retreated into his lab to sleep. Nobody to watch Jeopardy with. Just nobody.

Migrating into the bathroom, he never wore the old remnants of his old life. No belt, elbow or knee pads, and no longer did he adorn the purple mask that once told of his identity. He never picked up his weapon anymore. Just existed.

"About time you come in for a shower, dude. Here I was thinking that you would just mutate into a stinky plume of bad body odor" The mirror held a familiar face, "You need to get out more, Donnie."

He began the shower-head. The water squealed against the usage as a slow, burping stream flowed through the rusted nozzle. Rust tinted the water a diluted orange color, that he knew would leave behind a sticky sheen that would attract more dust than if he didn't shower. He didn't care, as long as the shower was hot.

"I still have work to do down here. There's not anybody for me up there anyways."

"You don't know that, dude. I'm sure the others are up there somewhere." The wide brow of the speaker furrowed as he said, "Whatever work your doing is not getting anything done. That sounds pretty anti-productive to me. I mean, you're talking to a mirror, dude."

Don went to wash his hands as the shower heated up, raising his eyes to interlock with the blue pools in the mirror. "You're just a figment of my imagination. You're here because by nature I require some form of social interaction. That's all."

"That harsh, dude." The eyes crinkled with sadness and said, "But you don't really mean that. You just miss me. Admit it."

"I can't miss what I don't remember." That seems to shut up the voice as the hot water from the shower begins to steam up the room, engulfing the mirror in a white mist. The face was gone.

Shower water was hot and sticky, just as always. That could be one of his chores, next. Fixing the plumbing around this place. It wasn't until the water turned cold through excess use that he stepped out, not even drying off as he simply walks out of the bathroom. The lair was as quiet as always, but as he passed his father's room, a familiar smell of chamomile tea wafted outwards from the thin, paper door.

Hands shaking as he opened the door, he stepped in with the smell of spices and tea so strong that he took several steps back, his eyes watering from the potency. Strengthening his resolve, Don pressed the crook of his elbow against his face to help shield him from the brunt of the scents. The room was dusty, like the rest of the lair, but an odd, soft light emanated from a source that Don couldn't see. It was as if there were candles burning that he couldn't see, but lit up the room regardless.

Don closed his eyes. The room was not lightened by candles. There were no incense burning, no tea brewing. It smelled only of dust mites and old sewage. It was cold, not warm. There was nothing but aged remains of his father, who passed away long before anybody else. He was no longer here.

"I thought you got over talking to yourself, Don."

Was he thinking out loud? Donatello could hardly tell the difference anymore. He licked the chapped outside of his mouth and replied, "I figured it didn't matter if I talked to myself or not, being as there is nobody hearing what I have to say, other than myself."

"I'm listening, dumbass."

His neck creaked as he rotated his head sharply, looking for any source of the voice. There was none. Eyes drawn to a pad on the low hanging table of his father, he knelt before it and picked up the papered pad in his hands. Flickering through the pages, he didn't flinch as a bead of ruby bubbled from his finger, tainting the paper. A paper cut that he didn't even feel.

Sucking on the metallic copper of the blood, his brow furrowed as he read what page he cut his finger on. It was a grocery list. Most of the basics were covered, milk, eggs, toilet paper, laundry soap, and Jello. There was no specification of meat, only the capitalized word sprawled across the bottom of the list. The tilted, sloppy, and tight lettering showed the handwriting to be Raphael's. An old grocery list that he wrote, with his blood smeared all over the precious words.

And that's when the sadness came.

Don't think. Don't remember. Don't think. Don't remember.

"It's normal to be sad, Don. Stop being so damn stupid. You can remember us. It's not like we were the worst fucking people you knew."

"You're not here. You're just my subconscious relaying thoughts that I push away," Don's voice is cracking like the first snowfall under a heavy foot. "You're not real."

"Duh. I'm dead. We're all dead. You're the one talking to yourself and bleeding all over everything. Maybe if you actually listened to yourself, you'd stop being such a depressing loser."

Don laughed, it was watery but heartfelt. Almost warming. "Sure, whatever you say. Just save me a spot, wherever you guys are."

"Always. Just take your time getting here. No rushing it."

Donatello didn't answer, but he held the list in his hands and realized that he could really do for some bacon and Jello. It wouldn't be so bad to go out for groceries, for once.

* * *

**A/N- I think that I was mainly inspired by I am Legend when Will Smith would talk to all of the mannequins. Heh heh heh. That scene, to me, was one of the most powerfully SAD. So I put Don through this. Aren't I awful?**


	3. Counterpart

_I've been wanting to write Dark Turtles for some time. Same with an interrogation scene. So lucky me, I figured out a way to combine them. Now, I haven't seen Fast Forward in well over a year so if the Dark Turtles sound off, then they probably are. I would care more but I have a tendency to exaggerate characters anyways. Hopefully you dudes enjoy and my heating comes back on._

* * *

"Answer when I ask a question. If you don't answer, I hit you."

"What about rhetorical questions? Because those always confuse the hell out of me."

Flesh on flesh always sounded too meaty and squishy for Michelangelo's taste. He spat out what blood he could and looked back up at the hulking red mass before him. "You have that Hulk and Hellboy mix thing going on. Doesn't look as cool as I thought it would. Too much Red Skull for me."

More splatters of blood across the cold cement floor with limited light. For being in the future, Mikey expected at least florescent lighting. Even if it did ruin his skin complexion. His interrogator, a construed and warped vision of what was supposed to be his brother, stood before him. At least Raphael could utter multiple syllables in his words. This clone, evil twin, counterpart, or whatever he was couldn't even say Mississippi. Probably couldn't spell it either.

"You didn't even ask a question," Mikey protested.

"I don't like the way you look. I hit what I don't like."

"You better not look in a mirror then, dude. Otherwise you'll have some serious glass to pull out. Tweezers don't look like they work too well in your fat fingers."

Another slammed fist into the side of his head to make his world spin. Sounds and images blurred into grey blobs of nothing. His head was ringing louder than church bells after the 1812 earthquakes. Not that he was there to hear them. "Shut up."

"Isn't that kinda contradicting what an interrogation is?"

A snap of what felt like broken bone flooded his eyes with pressure and water. Maybe he shouldn't provoke the hulking mass of muscle that was currently using him as an inflatable punching bag. If there wasn't so much pain exploding from his face, he would be having a good time.

"I ask the questions, not you!"

"Breaking his nose will only make it harder for him to focus on the questions and answer properly." A crisp, cold and seriously condescending voice echoed out through the haze of pain that was emanating from inside his skull. All he could see through his hot tears was a big red blob and a slightly smaller blue blob. At least everybody was color coded.

"He didn't answer my questions. So I hit him. Like this."

If Michelangelo was ever stepped on by an elephant, it would probably feel a lot like the kick that he received to chest. Three inches higher and his wind pipe would have collapsed. He gagged and rolled around in the thin wires that constrained him like a fish out of water. Even with his protective shell, the force still felt like it was collapsing his lungs. He was drowning, only without the water.

"Don't hit him like that. You'll make the meat all tender and sloppy for when we cook him."

Mikey audibly groaned at the familiar drawl of his supposedly _evil_ counterpart. He didn't find the yellowish whatever-it-was to be evil. Just really creepy. The tongue was on all degrees of wrong, in his book. "Can't we go back to the stupid one smacking me around?" It was hard for him to speak through the blood that flooded his mouth. The broken nose was making everything pound and ache.

"Stupid! Stupid! He called it stupid!" More gleeful, insane laughter before there was a loud scuffling some six feet away from him. At least he could crawl a decent distance away without them noticing. If only his eyes would stop watering from the pressure in his eyeballs.

"Both of you silence!" The command was followed by howls of pain as Mikey could barely make out the yellow and red blobs scurrying away from the blue one, which held something shiny. A sword. "Next you will lose more than the top of a few digits. Do I make myself clear?"

"So cruel and nasty. Always cruel and nasty, he is. Never nice."

Mikey's eyes cleared enough to see his counterpart holding a bloodied hand, the other dangling what he made out to be a severed digit. Too bad it wasn't the crazy dude's tongue. One raised, threatening blade was all it took to scare the injured mutant off. While he scurried out the door, the red monster of a Turtle paced back and forth in the room. Angry wasn't the right word to describe this dude. More like unstable and volatile. Like a nuclear bomb.

"Stop your sniveling and leave before I run you through next. Maybe a shortened rations for two weeks will strengthen your resolve, you fool. Get out of here. Now."

The larger being complied, ducking his head and shuffling away like a beaten dog. Pangs of sympathy rang out in his chest, even as it still ached from the earlier abuse. It was so weird to see something so big and strong emasculated like that. Brought down to obey more like an animal than anything else. He was so grateful that Leo's one moment of dark angst ended after a long trip to Japan and back.

"You," he barked. "Talk now."

The sword was still stained crimson. It made him feel sick. Those weren't that dude's brothers. Abused minions fit them better, from what he's seen. Wires still cut into his wrists and ankles, making it hard for him to even sit up to properly look at his newest interrogator.

"Talk about what? I could gossip about the Oprah show or fill you in on recent prototypes of Dungeons and Dragons. Although they're probably at version three hundred something by now."

Two steps forward and the sword was sheathed. The blue dude didn't even have the decency to clean it first. That would have made Leo squirm if he saw that. Just before his brother's counterpart could respond, another voice cut through the tense air.

"Wait. You don't have the level of finesse needed to gather information from a drunken prostitute. What makes you believe that you can beat it out of him? He obviously has a thick enough skull to take several hits from stupid back there."

"Thanks," Mikey quipped.

"I wasn't complimenting you. Don't get the wrong idea. I'm merely presenting the facts in my favor."

If it wasn't for the lanky, purple body and the obviously problem with dental work, Mikey would have sworn that he was simply talking to his own Donatello on a very bad day. With his eyes finally cleared up, he could plainly see the finer details on the bother of them. Obviously from the assortment of scars, gaunt faces, and dark eyes they've seen a lot of rough times in their lives. Even though they're supposedly made from their own DNA, he didn't see any resemblance of himself or his brothers in them. Which, for some reason, didn't make them any less creepy.

"Fine. Do with him what you will, as long as you get what we need."

With that the tyrannical leader left. A far, far drop from who Mikey himself called his leader. The purple counterpart of his other brother turned in full to face him. Now with less fists in his teeth, Mikey was able to look around to even see a cot, water basin, and a spare table with chair. His new interrogator took this chair and swung it about backwards, crossing and resting his arms on the back of it nonchalantly. He definitely had the same cool, zen presence of his real brother.

Even though he didn't feel intimidated by the figure in front of him, his mind knew better. Michelangelo had seen Donatello when his brother had needed to get what he wanted. It was never pretty. His brother used words like Raphael would use his fists. As weapons of total mass destruction.

"I'm going to keep this simple. No point in dancing around what I need to know. You seem much more cooperative than our other lines of information." Eyes were so dark and calculating it was hard to see any light in their depths. Just a cold well of black knowledge. "Since we've all but – how should I put this? _Drained_ them, we must resort to you. And while you may not appear to be the most well informed of your peers, you must know enough to be of some use to us."

A smooth talker. Thinks he can just waltz in here and calmly instigate a conversation to glean information off of him? The dude must have clearly not realized that _he_ was the one who probably invented that method. At least he wasn't going to play with any painful toys like his Don would.

"Depends on what I remember. Like you said, that big red guy back there hit me a few times in the head. Rattled my brains up a lot. Doesn't help that these wires are cutting into my wrists. That's important blood flow needed to think, dude!" It wasn't easy moving to stretch out his legs comfortably without straining his ankles, which were still bound too tightly. He wasn't even going to attempt to move his arms, which were oh-so-painfully trapped behind his shell. Always the worse position.

"There's no reason why I wouldn't reward a compliant prisoner. Tell me what I need to know, and I'll see that you're visit here will be a little more comfortable."

"Depends," Mike shrugged, "What do you need to know?"

"Don't waste your time thinking about ways to defend your, ah – _family_. There's no reason," he said family as if it was some disgusting disease. "We don't need to know anymore about them."

Blood turned to liquid ice in his veins as he had to fight to keep his expression stoic. They didn't have his family. No way. He was stupid enough to get captured somehow, but not them. Remembering back now, he can't even think of any way he came to be here. All of his recent memories were gone. Last he remembered was reaching way in the back of the fridge for some old Glooglan Casserole that nobody else would touch with a hundred foot pole. It had only one eyeball in it. It's not like it was gross or anything.

"Our sources tell us that you came here by remote control? By a television, no less. I hardly doubt this information is accurate. The twenty-first century didn't have the technology to travel time, let alone would have constructed it into a device used for watching idiotic programs."

"Jeopardy wasn't so bad. Only smart people could play it anyways."

Don's counterpart gave a confused expression with a crinkled brow and narrowing eyes, "What does exposing yourself to a state of harm have to do with a game? Never mind. I don't wish to know."

"You don't get out much, do you?" Mikey expected to at least get smacked around for that comment, but the interrogator only looked on him with a wicked amusement. Not as heart warming as his own Don's expression. That face filled him with a more sick dread than anything.

"I don't have the patience for gleaming information by twisting around my questions to get what I want. There is a little black market item that was developed by the Triceratrons long ago. It seemed that one of your own was quite familiar with it already."

Grimly set jaw and sharp eyes was all that Mikey allowed to answer his interrogator with. This guy knew a little bit too much about them. Although what they learned from his brothers or what they learned from Darius Dun were two different matters. Mikey didn't want to say too much and end up giving away what he thought would be harmless information, but later be used to cripple them later.

Anxiety and fear were never his favored emotions. They only grew and manifested in his sweat and thundering heart as Don's counterpart left the room. He was going to come back and zap his brain for information like they did to his own brother way back when. Did Don ever talk about that to Cody? To Darius? Mikey wasn't what he was sure of is that he didn't want his brain picked at for information against his will. That would so not be cool. He liked his brain intact.

Purple Turtle returned and his teeth were grinding to dust due to his nervousness. Whatever bulky thing Don described before was obviously upgraded into this slender and slim-designed silver cap. There was blue light humming underneath the device. Probably going to be used to pick apart his brain. Even with no hope, he still tried to at least roll away, although he didn't get more than a few inches before a much bigger and stronger hand stopped him.

Each moment was too vivid for him. Gleaming metal of the cap being place on his head. Triumphant smirk of an enemy knowing that he had the upper hand. Cold vibrations feeling around on the top of his skull. He shivered, and it wasn't from the icy touch of the cap. Inside he was twisting and snaking around in knots. He didn't want to betray his family. He had to fight against this, even if he didn't know how.

"The mind, in these times, is no longer a locked safe of information. What you know will soon be known by myself. If only those moronic ruffians understood this, we would have saved much time. That and cleaning out blood stains from cement is always such a boring, laborious chore."

"You don't have my brothers." It was only a flicker of movement. A single moment, but be saw it. This entire time this dude has been acting like they had his brothers, but they don't. On that last lie, his eyes haltered just before meeting his own. He made the liars greatest mistake. He didn't meet eye contact.

His assured tone must have put off his interrogator. The dark eyes widened marginally and he caught a tight knuckle into Mikey's jugular, to make him gag. "Whether or not your _brothers_ are here does not pertain to you. We'll know what we need after I drain your mind of information."

Michelangelo laughed, almost a cackle of pompous glee. "Oh, yeah? What do you want to know? How to build this time machine thing? What sucks for you is that I know jack shit about anything like that. Most of anything I can build is a house of cards or maybe a castle on Minecraft. You can't get anything from me even if you suck my brain out through my nose. You don't have anything."

Obviously his once-calm-interrogator was not pleased. Eyes sparked with a simmering anger that made Mikey nervous, but his great relief in now knowing that his family was safe overrode his dread. So when the humming cap drowned out all other sounds, he didn't feel fear. When his sight was taken by the blue light, he welcomed it. No matter what happened he knew his family was out there either searching for him or on their way here. That believe made the sharp knives digging into his scalp a minor irritation. All he pictured was their faces, their presence, and he was at peace.

* * *

**A/N - Yeah, as you dudes could probably see, I didn't know how to end this. I was going to go for a more Black Widow with Dark Don but lacked the brain power to do so. Doesn't help that the cat is sticking his butt in my face everything other line I type. Which is getting quite annoying since he's the stinkiest of the bunch. I would love feedback and who knows, maybe I'll one day flush this out into a story.**


	4. Blue Ball

_There is an online course for free that the author M.D. Owen so graciously shared with me. I thought that if I gave this a try, then maybe I could get up to her level. Heh heh heh. She's one of the better writers for this fandom, in my opinion. Speaking of talented writers, I stole most of the gags for Leonardo in this from ConnieNervegas, who I owe nothing. NOTHING. So, I'm going to use this program to start posting not-quite-drabbles and not-quite-oneshots. It's a mixture of the two, I suppose. Hopefully I keep this interesting enough for responses, and hope that ya'll enjoy! _

_I do not own Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Nickelodeon does. _

* * *

Blue Ball

A ring was not just a little band of metal around a finger. A ring was also a sound. There are different types of sound, or noise, that a ring can make. The metallic chime, vibrato, and monotonous hum of a bell being struck. The ringing that was a dull, deafening anti-sound that always occurred when I struck my head too hard. Usually in battle. Before I took up my swords, there was another type of ring that I would always enjoy to hear. This ring was more subtle than the bell, and more pleasant than the ringing of my ears. This ring was created by a special blue ball that I had as a child.

Years have passed since then, of course. Once air left the ball, it deflated and never made that ring again. Donatello turned it into a shower-cap for Splinter, if I remember right. It was always that rubbery, bouncing ring that seemed to cut through all the other noises of play that struck my interest. As children, we didn't have many toys, but what we did have we treasured. That blue ball was always fought over, but me, being the largest of my brothers, usually had my more-than fair share with it. Regardless to popular belief, I rarely shared that ball. I would bounce it around the lair and the surrounding sewers. Despite what Mikey tells during family reunions, that ball was never impaled by Raphael. He only threatened too.

It got to the point where I became inclined to even talk to my ball. My father must have believed that he was doing something wrong with raising us, because I was the last of my brothers to acquire that certain trait. It was a little habit all of us formed, probably from being trapped underground for so many years with no outlet from each other. We eventually overcame this. Mostly. I never gave the blue ball a name, only claimed it as mine and nobody else. With it's deflation and reincarnation as a shower-cap, I never believed that I would ever see it again. That is, until this morning when Michelangelo shoved a parcel into my hands with the biggest smile he's had on in years.

"I know it's not that Martha Stewart tea-set that you had your eyes on, but I figured that you'll appreciate it," he said.

"Appreciate what?" I rotated the poorly wrapped present that was bound in more scotch tape than newspaper, "Did you just roll the tape around this endlessly?"

Mike grinned, like always when he thought he did something clever. "I know how much you love a challenge. Go on, open it already!"

Taken aback by the sudden show of generosity, not seeing him for several months after the initial family retirement. After twenty, we all went off in our own ways. Raph went to the swamps in Florida, Don is somewhere in the Middle East, and I never strayed from Japan. Or his grave. It was a long trip from New York to Japan, I didn't even know he was coming until he showed up on my lone rice patty farm. I rose sheep as well, for clothing and food. I hope Mikey still enjoys lamb chops.

"I'm opening, I'm opening." I chant with good enthusiasm as I struggle with the tape. Almost taking my prized Katana to the damned package, I eventually got the tape free to see a white box with the picture of a giant blue ball on the front. My eyes even stung. "Mike..."

"Don't say anything except that you'll let me help you blow it up!" He rubbed his hands together and vibrated on the spot in his excitement. Even in his late twenties, he never really did grow out of himself. Always stayed the same. It was nice.

"Of course." We hug and my eyes stung a bit less, "I'll get the air pump."

"You're not going to blow it up by mouth?"

"You never liked a challenge."

* * *

**A/N- So, there you go! My first attempt at this course! The next prompt is, "And that's when the sadness came." So expect sadness. Heh heh heh. Or at least my attempt at it. I am watching Die Hard for Christmas and am pleased by the amount of swearing. Maybe I should write the next Exercise with Raphael. Merry Christmas, and I hope you enjoyed the read!**


	5. Lost but not Forgotten

_I was actually in the process of writing on the final chapter of Expose the Lotus when I thought of this idea. ChatterBOXX was the one who inspired the idea, and I just kept on going with it. This was originally going to be a comedy, but... Don't ask. I guess, to me, I see them as struggling through life as kids. If the sewers were such a grand residential area with running water and electricity, they'd set up housing there. Ha ha ha ha! Here I have the 'lair' as a one, maybe two room unit that used to be used for storage. I figured that maybe some utility company might store their stuff in some part of the sewers, or something. I'm not sure._

* * *

"Don. Donnie. Are you awake? Donnie?" A foot in the dark kicked him and he yelped, "Don! I just wanted to ask a question."

"Another one? Just go to bed." His brother shifted around to his side. Mikey pouted as he was blocked out.

"I can't sleep. When are they coming back? It's been a long time. My tummy hurts."

A sigh came from the other side of the small makeshift bed of old newspapers and cardboard. "How should I know?"

"Because you know everything," Mikey said. He believed it, too. His brother knew everything. Donnie said so.

"Wait, you said that your stomach hurts?" Don asked. The smaller turtle nodded in response to the question, making sure to curl up more against his brother, only to be pushed away again. "Stop drooling on me."

"I think I ate too many cookies."

Mikey could hear his brother shift more and he could barely make out the light glint in his eyes, showing even in the dark. "You've never eaten cookies before. None of us have. The only way you even know what they are is that cooking book that we found washed up."

"Yeah, I did. They were small and green. Maybe they'll give me super powers like Superman."

"Stop lying, it's annoying." Don turned to lay on his back, elbowing him with a nudge. He could hear his brother smile beside him as he continued, "If you talk about cookies, you'll make the dust bunnies hungry. They love to eat cookies and if they don't get what they want, they'll eat you instead."

He didn't want them to eat all of his cookies! It took him a long time to pull the little square box out of the trash pile below one of those barred windows that led to topside. The box had lots of green cookies and he knew that it was good for him because it had a Master Splinter on the front of it.

Mikey rolled out of the newspaper, ignoring how it crackled loudly underneath him and crawling over to where he hid the cookies. There was all kinds of boxes and cans that he and his brothers collected. Most of them didn't have food, but he liked to pretend that they were all full and he'd make lunches for everybody. Nobody liked to play with him and his cans, though. They said that it was stupid.

"What are you doing, Mikey? Get back in bed. You know how cold it gets when there is only one person." His brother shifted around to turn on a flashlight, one of the few commodities that they had. "Don't make me waste batteries on dragging your butt back here. They won't last long and you know how hard it is to find ones with any charge to them."

"Can you point the light a little over here, Donnie?" His brother complied and Mikey quickly noticed the bright red box with the pirate symbol on it. At first the skull and bones scared him, but Raph said that pirates would wave that symbol around before the kicked butt. Pirates were cool, so that meant that the cookies were extra good.

"What are you getting into, anyways?"

Uh-oh. He better eat up the cookies quick, before Don or the dust bunnies catch him. He took a handful and plopped them in his mouth. They tasted really bitter, but so did most of the food they ate, so he just swallowed and tucked the box under more cans. His tummy hurt again. Maybe he should share.

"Do you want some?" Mikey didn't pull out the box again. He didn't want Don to be mad at him because he didn't share, so he'll pretend he just found them. "One of the boxes I found had some, uh - "

"What is this?" Don dropped the flashlight, the room enveloped into darkness until the guilty turtle picked it up again. His brother was holding the box now, eyes super big and face a funny shade of green. He looked really scared. "Did you eat these?"

"No!" Mikey didn't meet his brothers eyes, looking at the pictures that still clung in shaded colors to the boxes around them. "I was going to share, honest! I didn't eat any because I'm good."

His brother turned the box in his hands, his eyes twitching a lot as they went left and right, crossing back and forth really fast. Mikey wished that he could read as fast as his brother. He was in a lot of trouble now. "I'm serious, Mikey. Did you eat any of this?"

"Nu-uh." He shook his head again. "I didn't even though you said that all the dust bunnies would come and eat all of my cookies. I was going to share with them." His tummy was really starting to hurt more. He felt hot. He should probably stop lying, or he was going to drop dead. That's what Leo told him, because lying was really bad and people die when they do bad stuff.

His brother had really scary eyes as he crouched in front of him, poking his face. "If you have throw up whatever you ate. Otherwise you'll get really sick. Those weren't cookies, that was poison."

"But it had Master Splinter and pirates on it! That and if I didn't eat them all up, the dust bunnies were going to take them and then I wouldn't be able to share the with you guys. I was going to share and then we can all eat and the others will come back because they won't be hungry anymore." Blue eyes began to water as the young turtle sniffed through the clogged nostrils, "They're coming back, right?"

His brother started to blink a lot and he fell down on his butt, curling up to cover his face with his hands. "I don't know, Mikey. I don't even know how long they've been gone."

"But they have to come back. What's going to happen if they don't?" Mikey flinched and bit his lower lip as his tummy started to hurt again. It was like little hot knives were dancing around inside him. "Donnie? I'm sorry. I ate all the cookies and I didn't share. Do you hate me now?"

Donnie was breathing funny, in little gasps that sounded like he was trying to breathe with lots of water in his mouth. He was pulled into an embrace by the larger turtle, who was trembling and hiccuping. "I could never hate you," his brother swallowed and coughed, "but you shouldn't have eaten them. Now you're going to be sick and I don't know what to do."

"It's okay. You said that I needed to throw them up, right? But I don't like throwing up. I'll get hungry again, and that's even worse."

Wiping at his wet eyes, his brother used the wall to stand up, pulling the smaller brother up with him. "Come on, we need to go to the channel. We have to make sure that poison is far away."

"Okay," Mikey said as he let himself be led by his brother. They took the flashlight with them so that they could see, but there was more light when the left the lair. It was daylight outside. Maybe after he was better, his brother would let him go outside again. The others might still be out there.

Donatello led him to the channel's edge and pointed at his own mouth and said, "You're going to have to poke at the very back of your throat. You'll start gagging, but that's good. Then you just try to get everything out, okay?"

"I don't have anything to get out," Mikey stared at the water with sad eyes. "I just want daddy to come back with Leo and Raph. I miss them."

The water started to get really blurry and his brother's voice sounded like he was underwater. He couldn't feel anything but his tummy, which was burning a lot. He didn't remember eating fire. Just some cookies. It was because he didn't share like he was supposed to do.

"Mikey, throw it up!" A pressure started to compress his chest together. His stomach rolled as his body lurched forward, something wrapping around his stomach. "Come on, I'm not going to let you leave too. You have to stay here."

His chest and throat began to burn as hotly as his stomach. Cold water splashed against his face as his body fell forward, gross tasting stuff that stung his mouth fell into the water. His stomach stopped hurting, but he was still really hot. He must have gotten sick even though he was careful to not play in the dirty water or drink it.

"Do you feel any better?" His brother wiped his eyes for him, helping him sit up and still holding him. "You have to stay here with me, okay? You can't leave. There won't be anybody else to keep warm with if you go away."

"Okay," his voice sounding really raspy like he was talking too long. "I won't go. I promise."

* * *

**A/N - I guessed the others have been gone for a few days. For reasons I don't know. I can think up a few scenerios, though. Not that I will. I'm going to try to write less multi-length stories and just put down scenes that I think of here, so that I don't take up so much time. This is more fun anyways, because the reader can build up the story how they want. This is actually my first take on Chibi Turtles since Ahoy-Matey. Well, there was that little one-shot with Mikey, but that was different, I think. Heh heh heh. Hope you enjoyed!**


	6. Panty Monster

_Oddly, I was going to write something really graphic, dark, violent, and angsty. Me and ConnieNervegas just got finished watching Planet Terror so I wanted to write something with Zombies. Then this. I blame her for her overwhelming influence to steal her characters. I can't help it. They're golden. Daryl is mine, though. Maybe he'll get another piece of his own again, who knows? Where the last chapter had a supposedly humorous one-shot turn horribly tragic, this is an angsty piece turned into more of a comedy. Shannon is too funny, though!_

* * *

The screaming only came at night. Nothing could block out the inhuman screeches. During the day they were slow, cumbersome. At night was when Raphael walked through hell.

Long weeks of nothing but canned ham and corn was giving Raph horrible indigestion and made it so that his human comrade never sat in the passenger seat, when he drove. An old guy with more white in his hair than black and a thorn in his side that made him a bitter son-of-a-bitch. What his past was, Raph didn't care. He just had one other objective other than surviving: finding the others.

"Thought you knew how to handle a pistol. Hold it like that and you're going to shoot your own damn face off." Thin, dark spit flew from his mouth to stick on the bottom of the mall's dried up fountain. "Unless you're looking for a facelift, precious?"

Raph picked up the derogatory nickname and bristled at the implication that he was anything but the manliest of men. Even as a turtle. "Guns are for pussies. I don't need no gun to kill those fuckers." Tossing the empty pistol back at the man, he drew his own pride-and-joy and rotated it smoothly in his hands. "All I need is this."

"Last time you used your forks on the zombies, they just about bit your arm off." Another spit of tobacco. "Dumbass."

The younger male said nothing as he turned away, standing up to check out the rest of the mall district. He only made a few feet away when his partner-in-arms spoke up to say, "Board up what you can and push down some of those vending machines as barricades. You're a big lad, I'm sure you can haul 'em around without my old ass."

"Yeah, yeah." Same as usual. Not that he was going to argue with the man, he already knew what they needed to do. Figured out years ago from Leo, that it never did no good to argue when the other was talking sense. Whether or not he gave a damn was a different story, though.

His stomach ate itself up so much that there was nothing left by this hallow hole where he used to store food. It was hard to keep anything down, and it wasn't because all the food was canned or half-way spoiled. One day he went out for a week or so to get some space between him and the city. Only there was no city to return too, when he got back. Just an empty shell.

Full of fucking zombies.

"You didn't get lost in the panty store again, did you boy?"

"No! And I didn't get lost last time either!" Raph shouted back as he skid down the stairway, using the handrails as a slide. Mikey always wanted to do that. His feet hit the solid, polished floor on the bottom level and his guts churned with nausea. Can't think about that shit now.

"We're running low on food again because you eat so much of that ham. Thought by the way you bitch about it all the time that you would hate the shit." He used a dirtied cotton cloth attached to the end of a the remains of a clothes hanger; a wire just skinny enough to clean the barrel of a hunting rifle.

"Bitching is better than talking for hours about the shitty food in the Navy," Raph argued.

"Don't put me in with those squids, kid. It's the Marines. Get it right." The old man's knees cracked as he stood up from the fountain's edge, replacing the rifle to the holster across his back. Where the man got all his guns, Raph didn't know or care – he was just grateful. As much as he hated using them, they were a hell of a lot easier to blow ugly ass zombies with.

"You know anything about electricity? You're a hundred years old, so you should know something, geezer."

"It's Daryl, you punk." Opening Don's old duffel bag that Raph managed to swipe from the desolated lair, he pulled out a blue sheet of paper with white lines scribbled all over it. Watching the man idly toss the bag by his feet, Raph gritted his teeth to keep from ripping the bag back from the man. "I don't know shit about electricity. Not my thing. What about you? All your talk of being a Ninja seems pretty damn helpful, doesn't it?"

"How come you never tell me your last name?" Raph asked as he went against the man's wishes and took the bag back, holding it protectively against his chest. "Because you seem pretty fucking opinionated for being somebody I don't even fucking know."

"I didn't tell you because you're just a fucking kid who might not live in the next hour," Daryl said as he dug through his jacket's front pocket. "Damn it, where the hell is my chew? Better have some at the next store." Frustrated in his lack of nicotine, the veteran sat back down on the fountain with his joints crackling with the effort. He brought up the blueprint again and pointed at a room towards the center of the map, small font words scribbled about it. "This is where we need to get too. But for this radio station to be any use, we need somebody who can rewire some power from a back up generator they got stored here," he flipped the page and pointed to a single room drawn with more written notes.

"How far away is that from the main building?" Raph asked. He took the blueprint for himself, memorizing what he could. "Don could do this."

"Who?"

"Nobody," Raph avoided eye contact as he pushed the now crumpled paper into the man's hands. "He ain't nobody. Okay? Don't start with the questions."

"I'm not your mother, boy." Daryl neatly folded the paper and slipped it back into the bag, careful to avoid Raph's tight clasp around the straps. "I can recognize the name of a brother when I hear it."

Almost two months since he last saw them. Any of them. All he wanted was some space to clear his head, but ended up being on his own for the rest of his pathetic life. At least now he wasn't the ugliest fucker around. There were more than enough zombies to pound his frustration into.

"Raph," the turtle said, "My name is Hamato Raphael. Got some brothers too, and a sister." Eyes burned as his throat closed up a fraction, "And a dad."

"Japanese, eh? My father fought in that war. Buried him in that war."

The two men sat down for the night, not relaxing, but gradually winding down. They could never be too careful, not when the screams were going to start again soon. The sun was almost completely down. What light there was streaming from the outside had a rosy shade, like Death's tanning light – as Mike would say. That the grim reaper was trying to tan up his bony complexion.

"What about you? You're not from a street gang," Raph said.

"Vietnam. Joined when I was sixteen." Daryl shifted about, to crack his own back against the concrete behind them. "Dumbass move then, but they took anybody they could get their hands on."

An awkward silence. The two mulled over whatever thoughts they had, any movements hushed and paranoid to alert any unwanted ears. Being older by several decades, the veteran took the first rest and Raph didn't have to guess anymore why the man could sleep in any situation. Any environment here had to have been better than the jungles of Vietnam. The sewers didn't seem to bad to him, then.

Raph took the first patrol. The usual company he always kept at his side where gone and it was as if his very ears and eyes were taken from him. Every sound or motion made him jump, drawing his weapons – unsure of what was zombie and what was rats. Even the black, beady little eyes that he caught peaking at him from deteriorating ceiling tiles made his throat close in. Too much dust in the place. That's what it was.

Wandering about the hall with nerves on fire, he found himself lost in the panty store again. Scantily clad manikins of Victoria Secret super models were standing about in alluring poses. People found no reason to take them during a zombie apocolypse. Can't kill zombies with panties and heavy perfume. Unlike what the old man might think, or Leonardo, he was not there for the fancy panties. It was the smell.

Perfume.

His footsteps were silent, eyes peeled, and breathing shallow as he crept through the dark store. With the evening light fading, he could barely make out any distinguishable figures. It was creepy and unnerving to have so many robust female mannikins surrounding him. He felt like a pervert. His brother would have a field day with this shit. He would never hear the end of it.

Motion to his left. Grip tightening on the Sai as he pivots sharply, impaling a shadowed figure behind him. Instead of the warm, wet sound of steel embedded into flesh, he was met with a dull thud. His weapon was stuck hilt-deep, so he tugged, grunting as he freed the weapon and through the broken body across the store. Soft cloth was still clinging to his hand, wrapped around his Sai. A bra.

"Get off, already!" Flinging the bra to join its master, he turned to leave the room when the same blur of movement alerted him again. Behind the cash register. "Guess I'll just leave now," he spoke purposely out loud. Stupid idea. Something Mike always did to idiots trying to hide from him.

Instead of leaving, like he said he would, he approached the counter silently. The smell was getting stronger now, burning the insides of his nostrils. If it was a zombie, it probably didn't have any sense of smell, because this was just nasty. Flowers and essence of nectarine was going to seep into his skin and haunt him for the rest of his life.

"Don't eat me, mister! You can have your bra back. I already have one."

"It's not mine!" Raph leaped on the counter, crouched and pointing his Sai downward, towards the voice. "Get your ass back here before I drag you out."

Another squeak and his weapons lowered at his sides in guilt and shame. Leo would lecture him until his ears bled if he caught him threatening what sounded like a middle-school girl. His mouth always moved too fast for his brain to catch up. Nervous at the new discovery, he sheathed his weapons and slowly climbed down the counter, on the side that the voice came from. He bent to look under the counter to see a small pink nozzle pointed at him.

"Ah! Fuck!" he screamed, holding his watering eyes as he backed up into more shelves full of perfume bottles. They rained down on him as he writhed blind with his nose overwhelmed with the smell of lavender and vanilla. Barrages of flowery and fruity smells overwhelmed his senses as if he was trapped in some seventh dimension of hell that was composed of Strawberry Patch super models on steroids.

"I'll spray you again like Optimus Prime when he chews on my violin, so don't eat me."

Rubbing and flushing out most of the girlie shit that got into his eyes, he wiped off the excess tears from his face. Blinking, as his vision still smarted and stung, he managed to bark out, "Ain't gonna eat you, girl. Fucking hell. Why the eyes? Zombies don't care if you spray them in the fucking eyes."

"You say lots of bad words. Do you like to eat soap?"

The girl crawled out from under the counter and Raph thought that he was still blinded, or that his vision was permanently impaired. Before him wasn't a young girl, but a young woman with bulging lairs of underwear with not a scrap of outer clothing on her. She turned around to pick something up from the ground and "Too Sexy" filled his vision as his eyes involuntarily trained on the backside of her panties. Leo's voice droned on in his head, calling him a pervert; his brother had turned into his subconscious.

"Put on some clothes, woman! That's not any way to dress around zombies. One snap of a strap and everything will fall out." He shielded his eyes on instinct, walking blindly into more mannikins as he did so. His father would be so disappointed in him. Ashamed, even. He wasn't raised to be a pervert!

"I don't have any clothes. When I got cold I just put on more panties. Or bras. I like bras more. They're shiny." With a sparkling purse that shone even in the dimming light, she pranced and twirled around him while asking, "What's your name? Mine is Shannon Darling. I live at 378 Brownwood Avenue in Northcreek Apartments, room 101 at - "

"Why is there no damn clothes in this store? It's a clothestore for fuck's sake!" Tearing through shelves, tables, and racks of underwear – Raphael found no suitable clothing for a zombie apocalypse. "How in the hell are you going to run away from a horde in a thong?" He asked himself, kicking over the rack. Sighing, he tossed her a thin nightgown with "PINK" across the front. "It's Raph."

"Pretty Raph, Pretty Raph! Are we going to see momma and dad now? We're going to go out for icecream. Wanna come?"

"Yeah." He scratched the back of his head grimly, not wanting to break the news to her. He'd have the old man talk sense into her, since Leo wasn't there to do it. "Sure."

As soon as she hooked arms with him, his chest grew heavy. It was like he was picking up a heavy engine, using only his back and shoulders for strength. As his father would say, it was his burden to bear. He took up the weight himself. It wasn't like he could look at his family again if he let a young woman die on his watch. Raph sighed.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

**A/N - Yeah, this was going to be MUCH longer with more Cameo's of ConnieNervegas' Johnny-No-Thumbs and M.D. Owen's Emyrs. Le Sigh. Here I go wanted to write an entire story again. I'm going to try to stick with short works like this from now on, though.**


	7. A Bitter Root

_This one-shot is actually like an unofficial epilogue to my romantic story Expose the Lotus. A reader by the name of Raphaelplusmikey requested that I followed up on the story. This is definitely longer than most, which I didn't expect, but it's still not really important enough to be stand-alone as a single piece of work. Because of that I put it into this collection of short works. If you haven't read the story, you probably won't know much about what's going on here. I'm not sure what else to say other than I hope you enjoy. Oh, I was also going to say that because this was more of a commission than anything else, I figured I'd throw in some Fanon gags. Just for the hell of it. Heh heh heh.  
_

* * *

The only alarm that Leonardo needed to wake up at five-in-the-morning as he did everyday, was his internal clock. If only he learned how to install a snooze button into his mind. Rolling to his feet from his thin tatami mat, he did a quick morning stretch for what body parts he could stretch. Mainly his arms, legs, and neck – not that he hasn't tried to be more flexible like his human friends.

Only his smallest, most limber brother could keep up with April or Casey. And he was too busy staring at walls or falling asleep randomly to play a game of Twister. Which Leonardo found odd as he found that game while he was digging through what looked to be Don's duffel bag in Mike's room. He didn't want another occurrence where black market bomb materials were being smuggled into the lair. There are still patches of fur that his father hadn't been able to grow back.

Stretching done, Leo walked out of the room and half-expected to see the other morning brother hop up to start up some grand breakfast with more sugar than grain in the pancakes – or whatever else he made. There wasn't anybody but him, though. It was silent. Lonely, almost.

Letting himself relax his posture more, he let his shoulders sag and his arms swing nonchalantly at his sides as he made his way past the Dojo. He can pick up extra Katas after the main practice with his brothers. Since nobody was up to take witness to his laziness, he could use a little break for once. Besides, he knew the best way to wake his brother up, if he was going to come down from his room at all. Even if his brother was in a recent slump because of the recent discovery of his weird little hobby, or obsession, or whatever was the political way to put it – food would bring him out of it.

Leonardo opened the fridge; the chilled air slapped him in the face hard enough to dispel any lingering sleepiness. It was so odd, seeing so many different types of food that wasn't there before. The very idea that he can simply go to a fridge and grab something to eat is almost absurd – no more scavenging. If they wanted groceries, they only had to ask April and give her some money. Not that hard, with most of the shipments of weapon and drug cartel usually being accompanied by more than enough cash for their family.

"What to make," Leo talked to himself, "No. Not that either. Is that bad? I can't see the expiration date." Picking up a jar of pickles, he rotated it around but couldn't see any dates on it. "I'll just feed it to Raph. Greek yogurt is always good. I wonder if we have some tofu left."

Filling his arms with random food products, Leo turned to dump them on the table and closed the fridge with the back of his food. Now, to turn all of this into a meal. Gazing down at the food as if it was some strategical puzzle that he must solve, he said to himself, "Turkey meatballs, Greek yogurt, eggs, rice, some tofu, and pickles. Mikey likes bacon. I should throw that in somewhere. Maybe something with peanut butter, too. There's not a lot of protein here. I could always use black beans."

Leo then realized with a dropping stomach that he only grabbed mainly food that he and father enjoyed, not what his brothers liked. He's too used to them eating whatever was put in front of them. Going up to the cabinet, Leo grabbed a few boxes of sugary cereal. Captain Crunch and Frosted Flakes. Raph will be happy now. He didn't remember his coffee-addicted brother ever being picky about food, so maybe he'll just ground up coffee beans and use that as a spice. That would work, right?

It's also morning, so he needs some toast. It might go well with the tofu. Maybe he can try to make turkey meatball and tofu sandwiches with a spread of black bean and coffee-grounds. It wouldn't be that hard to mash that up into a cream – it would be like mayonnaise. There should be some vegetables with this meal, so maybe he can find some collard greens or something dark. Like broccoli. That had more nutrients, from what he remembered from the Martha Stuart show.

Leo plugged in the toaster, reached up to grab some whole wheat bread from the cabinet, put in two slices, and pressed down on the loading lever. And waited.

"How long is this supposed to take, anyways?" In his head he counted at least thirty seconds. Was that too long? Was the bread burning? The coils aren't even on yet.

The toaster was broken.

"Come on, it's not breakfast without toast! Damned piece of hardware," Leo sighed, "I guess I'll just have to grab one of the extras." After a plague of the broken appliances, Don himself went and managed to scrounge up enough money to purchase at least three dozen toasters. Or at least Leo liked to think that Don bought them – he really doesn't know. There wasn't any news about a sudden toaster shortage in Manhattan. He didn't feel like braving his brother's lab, just yet. It was too early in the morning to do something that dangerous.

Going back to the food he still had, Leonardo began to make breakfast.

* * *

Waves of pink and gold shimmered over his face, tickling the skin. Mikey raised a hand to touch the soft strands, the scent of sweet cherries relaxing him. There was laughter that was not his own, but hers. But it sounded far away, even though he could see her right next to him. He wanted to see her face, but the hair was in the way. Mikey tried to stand up, but found that he couldn't. His body was frozen. That would explain why he felt so cold.

He blinked and the pink hair was gone. He was in the sewer again, alone. The same place he took her. "Arwen?" Mikey tried to get up again, using the wall for leverage, but he slipped in something hot and wet. The pugnent smell of organic copper smashed his sense into overload and his eyes watered at the potency. Blood was everywhere. It coated the walls, the floor, it even flowed in the sewer channel before him. His side burned, aching. He touched the bundle of fire tentatively, looking down to see a crimson hole gaping at him.

He was shot.

"It should've been me, I know. He was aiming for me," Mikey called out to the empty sewers, "I'm sorry. It shouldn't have ended like that, Arwen. I don't know how far we could've gone but," he gripped the clinging moss behind him in a fist, "but it was too soon, you know? I wasn't ready for you to go. I just met you, really!"

It was always the sewers where he lost her. Night after night is was the same scenario. He'd remember bits of his time with her. What she felt like pressed up against him, soft and warm. The smell of her breath and hair – the depth of her eyes. Like midnight, only with no stars to illuminate them. He wanted that back. Instead he always found himself in this damn channel, bleeding out from the wounds that killed her. Telling him how he failed to save her.

Was this what Leo felt when they were hurt? This guilt? He never felt responsible over anybody. Not even himself. He was going to protect her. He promised he would.

"I'm sorry, Arwen! Please, don't leave!"

The smell of blood began to morph, then. The metallic sting became sweet and savory. Hints of bitterness and fruitiness laced the scent. Mikey didn't remember this being part of his dream. The surrounded morphed, swirling around in a giant pool of brown and red. Like spilled paint, all mixing together. He called her name, again and again. There was no answer. Only that odd scent remained.

He didn't even get to hear her voice.

"Ah," Mikey woke with a strangled cry, "What – what the hell?" The smell from his dream was much more powerful now. It smelled like Raph's feet if he spread feta cheese all over them. Throwing off the entangling covers, he stumbled out of his room with crusty eyes. His trek to the kitchen was dangerous, as it was still very dark in the lair and he managed to stub his toe at least three times. It was way too early for him. He couldn't even remember where or when he went to bed last night.

"I figured food would wake you up," Leo smiled at him. "Just figured I'd make breakfast for once."

Mikey blinked, rubbed more crusty boogers out of his eyes, and blinked again. "Leo? What is this stuff?" He picked up a sandwich that looked more like a little gremlin with pale, meaty eyes. "Is this tofu? Why would you put that on a sandwich?"

"Tofu with turkey meatballs. It has a black bean and coffee spread. I thought that would make it more healthy. I'm thinking of putting on a side of boiled collard greens. Don't worry, I'm not salting or frying anything." Leonardo stirs a boiling pot on the stove. That must have been where that bitterness came from. "I was going to have the bread be toasted, but I think it broke again."

"That thing is always breaking, dude. It's like a curse or something." Mikey unplugged the toaster from the wall and rubbed the back of his head with a heavy sigh. "What is all of this, dude? And don't say breakfast, because that'll just make me cry. I haven't watched ever season of Hell's Kitchen to consider this... What is this?"

He picked up a bowel of a pasty white yogurt, but it had chunks of what looked like cereal, but it was hard to tell with all of the green and yellow blobs. Mikey could see Leo carefully measuring out a cup of rice, even going so far as to pick up any extra grains with the very tips of his fingers. The dude was mental. "That's the greek yogurt with Raph's favorite ice cream, pickle slices, and eggs." Beside him, the water was beginning to overflow, but Leo didn't seem to care. He just kept on picking off a single grain, one at a time. Maybe he was still dreaming.

"Dude, you can't just randomly throw ingredients together! Remember what happened when I first started cooking?" Mikey quickly grabbed a wooden spoon from the drawer by his brother and placed it on top of the boiling pot. "That's a cup, okay? Seriously, dude. It doesn't have to be perfect."

"But the directions ask for one cup of rice for every two cups of water. I have the water boiling with the collard greens to draw out the vitamins and nutrients more. That and it'll give extra flavor to the rice."

Mikey laughed. "I think that this is one of those times where we just say fuck it and do whatever, right? Who knows? Maybe this'll actually be edible when we're done." Grinning for the first time in days, Mikey assisted his brother in making one of the craziest meals in awhile. At least when he went outrageous with his food, it was with lots of sugar and everything was fried. His brother seemed more to be a perfectionist health guru. Who else would put tofu on a sandwich?

"Mike, the lid for the boiling rice is under your foot there, under the stove."

"I know, I know. It's Raph who rearranges everything, not me." Mikey put the lid to cover the rice, "What's up with the sudden desire to cook anyways, dude? You're usually in the Dojo doing whatever."

"Decided to try something new," his brother avoided his gaze pretty obviously, "did you want to pepper the pudding?"

"What pudding? You mean that yogurt stuff with the cereal?"

"It's pretty much pudding. It has the same texture, but it's healthier. It's still sweet, you know."

"I'm sure the green team would give it a ten out of ten, dude." Mikey grabbed the shaker from the counter, turning to pepper the apparent pudding. Arwen might eat this stuff. He had never seen her turn down food before. She probably didn't see a lot of it growing up, like him. She might even like the fact that it has pickles in it. That might be her favorite food, but Mikey couldn't remember asking her about it. She just talked about pickles a lot. He smiled sadly as he stirred the pudding.

"Are you okay?"

Mikey blinked away any moistness of his eyes as he wiped the front and back of the wooden spoon on the rim of the bowl. "It's nothing, dude. I'm fine. The pepper is just a little strong."

"I saw the bag in your room. When I took it to Don, he said that he hadn't seen it before. That it wasn't his. Where did you get it?"

That explains the sudden urge to cook. It was more like a lure than anything else. Mikey ground his teeth as he stepped away from the table and his brother. "Being interrogated this early in the morning is not really something I'm up for, dude. I'm fine. Just leave it at that."

"You watched Jersey Shore for like five hours yesterday and fell asleep on the couch, Mikey."

"I don't see how that's even weird or - "

"You were upside down with a kosher pickle sticking out of your mouth. And you were holding onto this chapstick to your chest like it was important to you." His brother gripped his shoulder and stared right into his soul. "What is going on, Mikey? Is this about the wearing dresses thing? Because even though none of us understand why you want to - "

"It's not that, okay? I don't like to wear dresses to be some kind of chick or something, dude. It's just funny. Like ha-ha funny." Mikey wasn't sure if he should be gravely insulted at the apparent relief on his brother's face, or happy to have that issue over with.

"Then what is it? You barely come out of your room, you have a sports bag full of empty liquor bottles and women's lingerie. I mean, what are we supposed to think? You even have a tape in there that - "

"Did you watch it?" Mikey pushed back on his brother's chest. "I don't care that you look through my shit, Leo. That's just you. But this is one of those times were I really want my privacy, okay?"

"Okay, which is fine. I wasn't sure if it was some, you know," Leo scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. "Pornography, or something else. I don't know what you've been up to this past month. You've been so distant and that's not like you."

"Dude, I'm like eighteen. I can have my own life outside you guys."

Leo gave him that disapproving look and crossed his arms and said, "Really? Because we're not really part of the common crowd. There's a reason we live in a sewer and not in a house in the suburbs."

"Bad tax rates?" Mikey tempted to jest to distract his brother, which didn't work. His eyes just became sharp and made him want to spill every secret he's ever held in his life. "Okay, okay. But it's not what you might think, dude. It was just one chick."

"The blond in the video? She had pink, striped bangs. Weren't they called coon tails? She told me that I was a nosy asshole and that the video was only for you. I honestly didn't know what to think, so I was going to wait for you to come to me. Which you never did."

"What was I supposed to say, Leo? I know we're not supposed to have contact with people outside of our family. It's too dangerous, or whatever. Which is stupid, because we can just sign up another contract thing with the Foot. Karai probably won't care too much." Mikey's breathing sped up as he pivoted to march out of the kitchen, "It's not like the end of the world if I have one friend."

"Where is she now, Mikey? You know this is dangerous for her too. She could be hurt or killed by our enemies. It's not safe for her to get close to you, or any of us."

Mikey laughed; a watery choke as he avoided his brother's soft, sympathetic voice. It was all too ironic. Too painfully ironic. "Killed? Hurt?" The words like bullets shot at his brother, "It's too fucking late now, isn't it? She's already gone. I couldn't save her and it wasn't the damn Foot or the stupid purple dragons, it was me. He was going to shoot me and he shot her."

"Who did?" Leo reached out to grip both of his shoulders, forcing him to stop moving. "I don't know this woman, but if she was killed because she knew one of our clan than we're responsible for her death. We can go after who did this."

"And do what? Kill him?" Mikey shrugged off his brother and covered his clenched eyes with a quivering hand. He couldn't look at him. "I'm tired of all of this – this! This death. Somebody kills somebody I love, so we go and kill them. That just means there's two more dead people. It doesn't do shit, Leo. She wouldn't want – oh," Mike gave another watery laugh, "She probably would. She hated the dude. Even if he was like her pimp dad, or whatever. I don't know. It's too complicated."

"Pimp?" His brother was silent for a moment. Mikey could hear the realization dawn on him, "She was a prostitute? You were friends with a hooker? What if you contracted some disease! She could have been luring you into some animal sex industry! You don't know what her intentions were. You can't just befriend anybody you find on the street, Mikey! There are reason for the rules that we've laid out about contacting humans. And... a prostitute?"

"Yeah, so what? I didn't judge her based on what she did for a living!"

"That's not a living, Mikey. That's – it's something else. It's wrong."

"It's all she had!" He finally blew his top and forcefully shoved his brother back, even if he didn't go more than a foot. He hated being so much smaller. "That's what she grew up with! She didn't have any friends and the only family she had moved off to fucking Mexico, okay? She didn't know how to get out, so I wanted to help her because I know what that's like." He clenched his fists, entire body shaking with emotions. "I know what it's like to stare at these walls and wish that there was something more. That you could see the sky, or maybe even the sun. That you can just go and walk where you want and not have to feel that fear. I hate that. And I know that's what it was like for her, so I had to help her, because it helped me. I know that you don't understand, but - "

"No, I do." Mikey almost missed what his brother said, because he said it so softly. Leo's eyes rose to look at the makeshift door behind them, "I think we woke the others. Come on, we can talk about this outside."

Mikey nodded, "Right. Lead the way, Leo."

* * *

Fresh air was always calming. The stench of the sewer was behind them and only the whispering trees of Central Park surrounded them. They made him miss the sprawling, vast jungles of Central America. Where the air was ancient and the lands were full of life. There wasn't an abundance of concrete and glass and asphalt, like there was in this city.

"What do you want to know?"

Leo sat down on the edge of a man-made lake, sticking his feet in the bitter cold water. The sun had yet to come up, yet. So they should be safe. Hopefully. His brother joined him and Leo watched how there was a lack in bounce in his step. How he seemed tired, drawn out. Just because he wanted his brother's to follow his example, didn't mean that he wanted them to become haggard like him.

"What was her name?"

Mikey splashed his feet in the water, always the little kid. "Arwen. I don't think she had a last name. Or if she did, she probably doesn't know it."

That was all he really needed to know.

Leo slung an arm over his brother's shoulders, giving a reassuring squeeze. "You can't always keep your promises. Sometimes there is just too much and you fail. It happens to the best of us, Mikey." His brother leaned more into his shoulder and Leo smiled, rubbing the top of his head. "You just need to better yourself. To be more prepared for anything."

"Then I want to be stronger," Mikey said, "And stronger and stronger and stronger. I don't want to lose anybody ever again."

Leo could feel his brother's shoulders start to shake more, then. Like a shivering leaf on a cold, winter wind. "You can't die, Leo. You just can't."

"I won't then, I promise. It's not like I can leave you behind with Raph and Don for company. I made that mistake once, and it won't happen again. Ever."

Leonardo let his brother mourn against him. It wasn't like the slobber and tears would never wash off. They would. He would prefer tears over blood any time, because the stains of spilled blood never disappear. He wished that he could take this loss from his brother and burden himself with the heavy weight, but he couldn't. It would help make his brother stronger.

If only there was a way to always keep the promises that he gave. Promises to protect them, to lead them along the right path, to never die – promises that Leo knew that he could never always make. There were times when the enemies were too powerful, where he was too weak, or when the weight was too great and he fell. That is why Leonardo lived for his family. Because it was they who picked him up, and it is because of this that he'll pick his own brother up and put him back on his feet.

That's what big brothers are for.

* * *

**A/N - Yes, yes. ANOTHER Leo and Mike story. Is this considered fluff? Definitely more fluffy than I ever really do. I figured that the requester was looking for some brotherly fluff. Heh. I still want to get another scene posted where Don and Leo play a drinking game. I REALLY need to work on my humor. The humor in the beginning of this felt really stiff. I haven't written anything purposely funny in so long, I think I forgot how too! Heh.**


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